- Joined
- Oct 17, 2020
- Messages
- 41
- Essence
- €7,496
- Coin
- ₡1,500
- Tokens
- 0
- World
- Mesa Roja
- Profile
- Click Here
Lysundren sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor, hands open and palms facing together before his chest. With eyes closed he focused on the spell, one that he was building on the fly, one that he wasn’t even certain could be constructed. Truth be told, meddling with an uncertain weaving of mana could produce disastrous results, ones beyond his ability to mend.
But this was simply too important.
He furrowed his brow as he felt the mana press back against him, revolting against the unnatural manipulation of its essence. Mana, with the open-minded understanding of its nature, could indeed be shaped by a learned practitioner in many ways. It could be brought into physical form as bolts of pure energy, or crafted in any elemental strike one could desire. It could produce unseen force able to lift objects at a distance, or build illusions indistinguishable from reality. It could command the clouds to gather and spill rain upon the land, or tear holes in space-time itself to seamlessly transition from one place to another instantly.
However Lysundren’s spell insisted that mana perform in a way apparently contrary to its own nature. It resisted like a tall oak tree against gale force winds, like a boulder against the clash of a blade. Lysundren grimaced, the muscles in his neck and forehead tightening, as a heat stoked upon itself between the space of his palms. He touched fingertips together to enforce his control over the spell throbbing to life, but he could already tell the house of cards was about to topple.
Lysundren released his grip and shouted. A sphere of translucent white light expanded from his separated hands, quickly shredding into thin ribbons before disappearing entirely.
The Grand Arch-Sorcerer jumped to his feet and stomped about the room, cursing over and over again.
The huge wooden doors to the chamber swung open laboriously, the hinges groaning with their weight. A man with rounded spectacles entered, his long black and red robe swishing by his ankles. A crescent of light decorated the top of his bald scalp as he stood a distance from Lysundren, a look of bemusement on his face.
“Are you all cursed out yet, Grand Arch-Sorcerer?” Suthbeld asked in a dry tone, hands held behind his back.
Lysundren paused and shot Suthbeld a glare. “Fuck! Fuck shit damn fuck! .... Yes, now I’m done.”
“Good.”
Suthbeld turned to the four huge statues against the far wall where Lysundren had been facing. Easily thirty feet tall, they had been cast in ageless bronze, still as glossy and gleaming as the day they had been forged. Four people, two men, two women, dressed as sorcerers.
Lysundren had never revealed who they were or why he chose to immortalise them like this. Suthbeld was also the only other person who knew about this chamber. And that was the way it would remain, as far as Lysundren was concerned. If Suthbeld wasn’t such an amazing and trustworthy assistant, he never would have learned about it either.
“I was this close,” Lysundren said, almost pinching index finger and thumb together, staring with one eye through the gap. “This close.”
“I’m sure you’ll get there eventually, Grand Arch-Sorcerer,” Suthbeld said.
Again, as much as Lysundren left a lot of The Ancient Dawn’s administration to Suthbeld, he wouldn’t reveal what he was working on. There were some things other people wouldn’t understand.
Or handle well, if the truth came out.
Lysundren pushed his black ponytail off his shoulder and sighed. “I assume you want something. You know I don’t like being disturbed in here.”
“All too well,” Suthbeld said. “There is someone here who wants to talk to you.”
“They better be important,” Lysundren said, placing hands on his hips.
It was common for a member of his sorcerer academy to request his presence. While there were many able teachers scattered throughout The Ancient Dawn, some of the more capable or risk takers would wish to have him oversee them specifically, usually about a variation of a spell – making it more efficient, producing new effects with similar techniques, or discovering a brand new way to wield mana entirely.
They rarely paid off in such a way, but it was vital to make himself available. The next generation of sorcerers needed to push the boundaries of their arcane knowledge. How else would they improve? How else would they unlock more mysteries of the universe? Lysundren’s interest in their pursuits helped to motivate them to take risks and be noticed. Eventually, one of them would stumble upon something noteworthy.
“I think that supposition is accurate,” Suthbeld said. “But it isn’t a student. it's someone.... external.”
Lysundren squinted and turned his head, keeping his gaze on his no-nonsense assistant. “You aren’t fucking around with me, are you?”
No one, and that meant no one, came to The Ancient Dawn without permission. The organisation’s very existence was a secret that even the Arcadian government hadn’t uncovered. For thousands of years.
When potential sorcerers were recruited, they were done so secretly by sorcerers of his order that searched the towns of Erde Nona for divergences of mana from the Manastream - indication of someone with a natural affinity for magic. If they chose to train as one of his acolytes, they were returned to the giant castle. If not, or if they didn’t meet Lysundren’s exacting entry requirements, their memories were wiped.
The giant castle complex was also invisible to the outside world, having glyphs etched into its stone. The glyphs were spells encoded into symbols that, when lubricated with mana, produced an effect – in this case, invisibility. The glyphs siphoned small amounts of mana from the Manastream, effectively maintaining the illusion indefinitely. They had to be recast or rescribed as time went on and they degraded, but decades could pass before maintenance was needed on such a rudimentary spell.
For someone to arrive unannounced at his castle door and demand an audience with him – well, that got his attention.
“Well? Don’t make me read your mind, out with it!” Lysundren said with more frustration than he meant.
“Grand Arch-Sorcerer,” Suthbeld said, adjusting his glasses, “it’s an envoy of the Unmade.”
But this was simply too important.
He furrowed his brow as he felt the mana press back against him, revolting against the unnatural manipulation of its essence. Mana, with the open-minded understanding of its nature, could indeed be shaped by a learned practitioner in many ways. It could be brought into physical form as bolts of pure energy, or crafted in any elemental strike one could desire. It could produce unseen force able to lift objects at a distance, or build illusions indistinguishable from reality. It could command the clouds to gather and spill rain upon the land, or tear holes in space-time itself to seamlessly transition from one place to another instantly.
However Lysundren’s spell insisted that mana perform in a way apparently contrary to its own nature. It resisted like a tall oak tree against gale force winds, like a boulder against the clash of a blade. Lysundren grimaced, the muscles in his neck and forehead tightening, as a heat stoked upon itself between the space of his palms. He touched fingertips together to enforce his control over the spell throbbing to life, but he could already tell the house of cards was about to topple.
Lysundren released his grip and shouted. A sphere of translucent white light expanded from his separated hands, quickly shredding into thin ribbons before disappearing entirely.
The Grand Arch-Sorcerer jumped to his feet and stomped about the room, cursing over and over again.
The huge wooden doors to the chamber swung open laboriously, the hinges groaning with their weight. A man with rounded spectacles entered, his long black and red robe swishing by his ankles. A crescent of light decorated the top of his bald scalp as he stood a distance from Lysundren, a look of bemusement on his face.
“Are you all cursed out yet, Grand Arch-Sorcerer?” Suthbeld asked in a dry tone, hands held behind his back.
Lysundren paused and shot Suthbeld a glare. “Fuck! Fuck shit damn fuck! .... Yes, now I’m done.”
“Good.”
Suthbeld turned to the four huge statues against the far wall where Lysundren had been facing. Easily thirty feet tall, they had been cast in ageless bronze, still as glossy and gleaming as the day they had been forged. Four people, two men, two women, dressed as sorcerers.
Lysundren had never revealed who they were or why he chose to immortalise them like this. Suthbeld was also the only other person who knew about this chamber. And that was the way it would remain, as far as Lysundren was concerned. If Suthbeld wasn’t such an amazing and trustworthy assistant, he never would have learned about it either.
“I was this close,” Lysundren said, almost pinching index finger and thumb together, staring with one eye through the gap. “This close.”
“I’m sure you’ll get there eventually, Grand Arch-Sorcerer,” Suthbeld said.
Again, as much as Lysundren left a lot of The Ancient Dawn’s administration to Suthbeld, he wouldn’t reveal what he was working on. There were some things other people wouldn’t understand.
Or handle well, if the truth came out.
Lysundren pushed his black ponytail off his shoulder and sighed. “I assume you want something. You know I don’t like being disturbed in here.”
“All too well,” Suthbeld said. “There is someone here who wants to talk to you.”
“They better be important,” Lysundren said, placing hands on his hips.
It was common for a member of his sorcerer academy to request his presence. While there were many able teachers scattered throughout The Ancient Dawn, some of the more capable or risk takers would wish to have him oversee them specifically, usually about a variation of a spell – making it more efficient, producing new effects with similar techniques, or discovering a brand new way to wield mana entirely.
They rarely paid off in such a way, but it was vital to make himself available. The next generation of sorcerers needed to push the boundaries of their arcane knowledge. How else would they improve? How else would they unlock more mysteries of the universe? Lysundren’s interest in their pursuits helped to motivate them to take risks and be noticed. Eventually, one of them would stumble upon something noteworthy.
“I think that supposition is accurate,” Suthbeld said. “But it isn’t a student. it's someone.... external.”
Lysundren squinted and turned his head, keeping his gaze on his no-nonsense assistant. “You aren’t fucking around with me, are you?”
No one, and that meant no one, came to The Ancient Dawn without permission. The organisation’s very existence was a secret that even the Arcadian government hadn’t uncovered. For thousands of years.
When potential sorcerers were recruited, they were done so secretly by sorcerers of his order that searched the towns of Erde Nona for divergences of mana from the Manastream - indication of someone with a natural affinity for magic. If they chose to train as one of his acolytes, they were returned to the giant castle. If not, or if they didn’t meet Lysundren’s exacting entry requirements, their memories were wiped.
The giant castle complex was also invisible to the outside world, having glyphs etched into its stone. The glyphs were spells encoded into symbols that, when lubricated with mana, produced an effect – in this case, invisibility. The glyphs siphoned small amounts of mana from the Manastream, effectively maintaining the illusion indefinitely. They had to be recast or rescribed as time went on and they degraded, but decades could pass before maintenance was needed on such a rudimentary spell.
For someone to arrive unannounced at his castle door and demand an audience with him – well, that got his attention.
“Well? Don’t make me read your mind, out with it!” Lysundren said with more frustration than he meant.
“Grand Arch-Sorcerer,” Suthbeld said, adjusting his glasses, “it’s an envoy of the Unmade.”